


a charlatan, a survivalist, and a swamp god

by Lukra (49percentchanceofbees)



Category: Flight Rising
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-09-12 15:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 6,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16875420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/49percentchanceofbees/pseuds/Lukra
Summary: A completed Pinkerlocke run on Flight Rising; or, several dragons desperately attempt to find their way out of a deadly swamp.





	1. Pinkerlocke start

“ _Alas_ ,” Zyere moaned, in tones of exaggerated distress. “Will no one come to the rescue of a poor, stranded beauty?”

“I will!” said a bright voice, much to Zyere’s relief. He turned to find a green snapper standing behind him. Far too close to him, in fact: he scrambled backwards, stepped into a pit of ooze, and went under, coughing and choking on the slime. A moment later the ooze rose, of its own accord, and deposited Zyere back on relatively solid ground.

“Oh my!” said the snapper. “Are you all right?”

Zyere coughed and coughed, hacking up a lungful of ooze, and then looked piteously at his new friend. “Woe is me … My beautiful scales, coated in disgusting swamp muck …”

“Well, I think that’s a little much.” The snapper frowned. “It’s not _disgusting_. It’s a natural product of the decomposition present in the swamp. Look, there’s worms in it.”

The snapper took up a clawful of the ooze, and Zyere reared back. He might be a bogsneak, but that didn’t mean he particularly wanted to hang out in a swamp. If his caravan hadn’t been attacked by marauding harpies and accidentally left him behind as it fled …

But it had, and now Zyere had to somehow find his way out of this wilderness. With the help of this snapper, he hoped. He interrupted the snapper’s ramblings about the wonderful qualities of mud and said, “Say, friend, you wouldn’t happen to know a way out of this swamp, would you?”

The snapper blinked at him. “Why would you ever want to leave the swamp?”

Zyere smiled toothily. “Oh, you know … I’m afraid I have business beyond these trees. My mother died recently, I fear, and I’m on my way to her funeral.”

“I’m so sorry about your mother!” the snapper said. “My mother joined with the swamp long ago.”

 _What in light’s name does that mean?_ Zyere didn’t ask. “As you can imagine, it’s of vital importance that I arrive on time.”

“I guess,” said the snapper. “But I don’t know a way out. I’ve lived here all my life and never wanted to leave.”

_Shade take it._

“Oh – but I know who could help you!” The snapper started off between the trees at once. She didn’t pause at the dark, stagnant water but dove right in and paddled along. Feeling rather sick at the thought of that liquid touching his skin, Zyere spread his wings and flapped along above the snapper. “My name’s Gwaihir, by the way. What’s yours?”

“Zyere.” It was very nearly the only thing he had told the snapper that wasn’t a lie. 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Zyere! I don’t get to meet many people” – _I can tell_ , Zyere thought uncharitably – “so I always treasure it when I do. Oh, here we are!”

They’d reached a small island with a hut of grass and reeds built into the side of a tall cypress tree. At least, Zyere thought it was a hut – it might have been a pile of random debris blown against the treeside by happenstance.

“Kar-no!” Gwaihir sang. “I’ve brought you a visitor.”

A mirror’s head poked out of the hut, snarling, “It’s bad enough that you keep bothering me, Gwaihir. Did you have to drag some other softscale out here?”

“I am not a softscale!” Zyere said in his most offended voice. He was very much a softscale.

Karno emerged fully from the hut and glared at Zyere. “I came out here to test myself against nature, to honor the Glademother by surviving with nothing but my wits and grit.”

_Light’s sake, I didn’t ask for your whole life story._

“I _did not_ come out here to be badgered by spirits and fools,” the mirror finished.

“I just need help getting back to civilization,” Zyere said. “Then I’ll be off your snout.”

Gwaihir gasped. “You know what this means, don’t you? _Road trip_!”


	2. waterskin

Zyere would never whine. He was far too elegant a dragon, too sophisticated in his tastes. Oh, he might be inclined to recount tales of woe to any passerby who would indulge him – he might be _especially_ inclined to do so if there were any chance that passerby would _give_ him something in response – but he would not _whine_.

“I’m _parched_ ,” Zyere whined.

“We’re surrounded by water,” Gwaihir said with her usual obnoxious cheer. “Just take a drink.”

Zyere looked at the water on either side of the causeway they currently traveled: black, covered in pond scum, with the odd dead insect or brown leaf floating in it. “I’m not that parched, Gwaihir.”

“Here,” Karno growled, tossing something directly into Zyere’s face. Zyere recoiled as the heavy object struck him in the nose, then picked it up off the ground: a waterskin. “Be careful with that. Made it myself out of the bladder of a featherback I killed with my bare claws.”

 _Ew_. “I would have preferred not to know that, frankly.” Zyere tipped some of the leathery-tasting water into his mouth and grimaced. “I don’t suppose you have any full of wine, do you? No? Just asking.”


	3. a savior of the millipedes

“How did you find me?” Dusk asked. “I thought I had hidden myself well.”

Gwaihir glanced down at the little tundra and smiled. “The swamp brought you to me. It knew you needed help, and it knew I could help.”

“Ri-ight,” Dusk said skeptically. “Does the swamp bring you dragons often?”

“Not dragons, no, but it does like to show me interesting things. Look at this!” Gwaihir turned over a rock and extracted a wriggling white millipede from underneath, holding it up before Dusk. Dusk didn’t recoil, as Zyere would, or snap at the bug, as Karno would. Instead she held very still and examined it thoroughly.

“I see,” Dusk said. “It seems like that white color would be disadvantageous for camouflage.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Gwaihir said. She set the millipede carefully back down and watched it scurry off into the mud. “What’s camouflage?”

“It’s when a creature looks like the environment around it, for hiding.” Dusk was a very clever little tundra. “A white millipede would stand out in the dark mud, making it easier for predators to locate and eat it.”

“I think that one was special,” Gwaihir said. “Perhaps intended for some grand destiny. A savior of the millipedes.”

“Maybe,” Dusk said, her voice neutral. She liked the image Gwaihir’s words conjured up.


	4. what's wrong with being soft

“So I know how I got here, and Zyere won’t shut up about how his caravan left him behind, and I’m assuming Gwaihir formed out of a sentient cypress log,” Dusk said, “but I don’t know what you’re doing in the swamp.”

“I told Zyere this already,” Karno said absently, clawing his way through a particularly stubborn bramble.

Dusk shrugged. “I wasn’t there, was I? So I still need to hear it.”

Karno glanced down at the smaller tundra – not so much smaller, anymore; she was growing rapidly. “You don’t _need_  to hear anything.”

“Then I want to hear it.” Dusk folded her paws primly under her and looked at Karno expectantly.

He gave in. “Fine, but I’m only talking if you help me cut a path.”

Dusk looked askance at the bushes. “I’ll get burrs in my fur. Ask Gwaihir; you know they’ll just part before her like magic.”

“Gwaihir’s busy getting food. We can’t let her do _everything_  for us. We’ll get soft.”

Dusk ran a claw through her fur. It wasn’t as silky as it could have been, in better conditions, but it was considerably nicer than it had been when Gwaihir had found her. “What’s wrong with being soft?”

“It gets you killed,” Karno snapped, more heatedly than the question really deserved. Dusk reared back a little, and Karno went on angrily, “Now, are you going to help? If not, leave me to my work.”

“I don’t think I am, actually.” The tundra raised her snout in the air and picked her way primly through the mud, calling, “Zyere! Can you tell me that story about the harpy and the guardian again?”

Karno shook his head and returned to his work. Better that she not bother him anyway.


	5. the swamp isn't here for you

“You’ve survived in the swamp since you were a hatchling, haven’t you?” Karno said.

Gwaihir nodded. “Oh, forever and ever.”

Karno sighed. “See, that’s why I respect you. Even considering that you’re _like this_ , you know how to manage yourself. If you didn’t, you would be dead.”

Gwaihir tilted her head. “What do you mean by ‘like this’? Oh, listen to that frog – isn’t it beautiful? That’s a river warden. They suffocate their prey before they eat them, which some call cruel, but I wonder if it’s truly crueler than being eaten alive.”

“Like _that_ ,” Kuros said. “What does the frog matter?”

Gwaihir frowned. “What do you mean? Everything matters. It’s all part of the swamp.”

“The swamp is an obstacle.” Karno stretched his neck. “It’s here to challenge us, to pit us against itself so that we may prove our mettle. But the frog? It isn’t a threat to us; it isn’t dinner. So it doesn’t matter.”

“The swamp isn’t here for you.” Gwaihir’s voice turned suddenly cold, even angry. Karno had never heard her like this. “It doesn’t exist to serve as an ‘obstacle’ in your little schemes. It doesn’t care what you want. It is for itself. And the frog is part of it. If you don’t respect the little pieces, you don’t respect the swamp. And if you don’t respect the swamp, _it_  will kill you.”

Karno almost got the sense that she’d wanted to use a different pronoun there.


	6. Theus' arrival

“Hello,” said a small voice. “May I sit here?”

Zyere glanced down to see a small imperial looking up at him with perfect poise, expression polite, waiting for his permission as if they were standing in a prestigious library instead of in the middle of a swamp.

“I … suppose?” Zyere said. “I don’t – where did you come from?”

The imperial started to shrug and then stopped. Perhaps that would have ruined his perfect etiquette. Instead he pointed back the way he’d come, along the trail of footsteps in the mud that vanished into the trees. “There.”

“But … how did you get here?”

“I walked.”

Zyere looked at the imperial for a moment, nonplussed, and then decided that telling his own story was more important anyway. “As for me, I was _abandoned_  by my _cruel_ and _awful_ caravan, when we were attacked by a band of _brutal_  and _merciless_ harpies –”

Unlike Karno or Gwaihir, the imperial listened to Zyere’s entire story without interrupting, his paws folded demurely under him. When Zyere finally ran out of steam, the imperial said, “I’m so sorry for what you have suffered. Do you mind if I join you on your journey out of the swamp?”

Zyere glanced around. Probably he should run this by Karno, but, well, he wasn’t a hatchling, always needing to scurry off to Karno for permission. And he did appreciate that the imperial had listened to him well – perhaps too well. Accustomed to someone cutting him off long before that point, Zyere had started to ramble. He’d have to practice going on longer.

“It’s fine by me,” Zyere told the imperial.

The little dragon cracked a true smile. “Fantastic! I am Theus.”

“Zyere. It’ll be good to have you.”


	7. Gwaihir's death

Karno turned from his own target just in time to see the ball of compressed roots and vines strike Gwaihir full in the chest. With a roar, Karno sprang onto the offending janustrap and put it down, then turned to Gwaihir, expecting her to be all right, because of course nothing could really hurt her …

Gwaihir lay on the ground, breathing labored, a wing folded over her ruined chest. Zyere stood over her, eyes wide, tongue flickering in worry. He said, “Gwaihir? Are you all right?”

When Gwaihir didn’t answer, Karno hurried to her side. Her brown eyes rolled towards him, then closed. Her sides no longer heaved with her breath.  The oily greenish liquid that had once run under Gwaihir’s skin spread in a puddle around her.

“Gwaihir?” Zyere said in a small, lost voice.

“We should burn her,” Karno said, his voice harsh. Zyere looked at him with eyes that were, for once, sincerely pitiful rather than calculated and pleading.

But even as Karno spoke, Gwaihir’s body began to sink, her flesh turning brown and viscous and sloughing away: as Karno and Zyere watched, Gwaihir’s corpse became a pool of mud in the dirt of the swamp.

“Oh,” Zyere said. “That’s new. Or do Earth dragons just do that when they die?”

“No.” Karno stepped forward, but even he didn’t quite want to touch the mud that had been Gwaihir. “She loved the swamp. Now she’s part of it. Maybe it loved her back.”

He almost thought he could hear Gwaihir’s voice on the breeze. But he was not a dragon given to flights of fancy.


	8. Karno's death

Zyere and Dusk both saw the beast cut down Karno: the spray of blood and the way the mirror’s body went limp and empty instantly. No one had to wonder whether he was still alive.

Roaring, Dusk went after the clown charger that had killed Karno, magic pouring from her claws. Zyere stood over the body, thinking – very slowly, and with great difficulty – how he’d stood over two bodies now, two of his friends; how of the trio who had started this journey only he remained. If someone had told him when they’d set out that this would be the case, he never would have believed them. Surely he, Zyere, weak and soft and skilled only in manipulative words, would be the first to die. After all, he had come to the others for help – he had pulled them out of their usual lives and brought them here to aid him. With them gone …

Dusk returned. Quickly, Zyere threw himself on the ground beside Karno’s body, though he took care not to touch any of the blood, or the body itself. “Alas, poor Karno, I knew him well …”

“Did you?” Dusk said. “What was his mother’s name?”

That threw Zyere off a little, but he was nothing if not a professional. “Matrida,” he lied, eyes welling with tears. “A beautiful dragon. It grieves me to think that she may never know what came of her son, under what farflung sun his bones bleach …”

“It’s the same sun everywhere,” Dusk snapped. Her face contorted into a snarl. “Karno is dead! Don’t disrespect him by pretending to cry for him. If you can’t” – a sob disrupted her snarl – “if you can’t actually cry for him, then shut up and stay out of my way.”


	9. Dusk and Zyere's deaths

Theus waited.

He waited safely, in camp, where Dusk and Zyere had told him to remain while they cleared the next part of their route of dangers. He had asked to go with them – he was almost old enough now to fight for himself – but they had refused. He’d be safer in camp, they said, even if there was no one left to stay with him.

Then he waited unsafely, in camp, as Dusk and Zyere failed to return, even as dark fell and the swamp night filled to bursting with croaks and growls and roars. Gwaihir would have been able to identify every animal in that chorus, but Gwaihir was gone. Theus huddled under a log and prayed for daylight.

When morning finally came, Theus squeezed out of his hiding place and went in search of Zyere and Dusk. He knew he’d found them long before he actually spotted them, because he could smell them rotting.

For a long time Theus sat in the mud beside the only two adults in his life and waited for whatever had killed them to take him too.

Eventually it became clear that this was not going to happen in any timely fashion, so he picked himself up, returned to camp, packed it up as he’d seen the adults do, and carried on down the path. He had to leave a lot behind, because he was too small to carry it all. But it had mostly been their things, anyway.


	10. Theus alone

It occurred to Theus as he walked aimlessly through the swamp that he had spent more of his short life alone than in the company of others. His parents had sent him off as a hatchling. He had barely had time to get to know or trust the others of this little group before they had died. Whoever he met next, he suspected they would not stay with him long either.

If he met anyone. For all he knew, Theus could be heading further into the uninhabitable depths of the swamp. Gwaihir had been their guide once, but she was dead. Karno and Dusk had possessed maps, but they were dead too, and Theus had not found the maps among their things, which he had searched only cursorily. But it didn’t really matter: he had no destination in mind. Once, they had aimed to get Zyere back to civilization, but with Zyere dead, that was pointless. Theus didn’t care if he reached civilization – he had never seen one. Theus didn’t even really care if he lived or died.

The bushes rustled, and Theus prepared himself to flee another ravenous creature, but all that stepped out was a mith even smaller than he was and similarly-colored. Its great feathery antennae curled down over its white robe. It looked at him, totally unconcerned by the appearance of a dragon, and made some soft burbling noises.

“Hello,” Theus said. He didn’t really expect the mith to speak his language, but a greeting was only polite. And he hadn’t had anyone else to talk to in a while. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Theus.”

More mith noises. But when Theus moved off, the mith followed about ten feet behind him. Perhaps another dragon would have found it disconcerting to be so tailed, but Theus instead sought comfort in the mith’s presence. At least he was no longer alone.


	11. Komaran's arrival

The mith had followed Theus for long enough now that he had learned to simply ignore it. It seemed, if not friendly, at least indifferent to what Theus was actually doing, unlikely to be accidentally provoked. It ate from pouches among its robes, and Theus had yet to see it sleep. Once he confirmed it was not a threat to him – and with all the malice in the world it might not have been, considering how quickly he was growing – Theus mostly ignored it.

At least, until it started vehemently kicking a bush. Then Theus felt obligated to investigate.

“What seems to be the matter, my good mith?” Theus had gotten into the habit of speaking politely to the mith as he traveled, though it never responded and he rather doubted it even knew Common. He had to talk to _someone_.

“I think I am the matter,” said a high-pitched, miserable voice from amid the bush’s leaves.

Theus paused, startled, and then pulled the leaves aside to reveal a small pearlcatcher curled around the bush’s main stem, pearl clutched tightly in her claws. As her cover disappeared, she squeaked and tried to run, but almost dropped her pearl in doing so, and twisted back on herself in an ungainly way to grab it again.

“It’s all right,” Theus said quickly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You’re so _big_ ,” the pearlcatcher replied, clearly unhappy about it. Theus politely did not mention that he was in fact quite young and would likely get much bigger. “Why did your familiar kick me?”

Theus looked at the mith. He had never considered it his familiar before now, and had a vague feeling that the word did not adequately describe their almost-nonexistent relationship. “I don’t know.”

“Will it do it again?”

“I don’t think so.” The mith had wandered off to closely examine the sickly white fungus growing from a fallen log, apparently satisfied that Theus would deal with the pearlcatcher.

“All right.” The pearlcatcher drooped pitifully into the mud. 

“Would you like to come with me … us?” Theus said. Gods, but he could use some company other than the weird mith.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

The pearlcatcher blinked up at Theus. “You don’t know a lot, do you?”

“That’s rude,” Theus replied, stung. “If you don’t want to come, you can just say no.”

“Can I ride on your back?”

“If you like.”

The pearlcatcher immediately scrambled out from under the bush and hauled herself onto Theus’ back, settling between his wings. He stood experimentally: he definitely noticed her weight, but it was no great burden.

“My name is Theus,” he said, twisting his neck around so he could look at her. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m Komaran.” The pearlcatcher began to vomit onto her pearl, making Theus flinch and instinctively shake her off. She landed in the mud, covered in ground-muck and her own pearl-juice. “Hey!”

“Please don’t do that on my back,” Theus said.

“I suppose now you’re going to want me to wash before you get back on.” Komaran sounded absolutely downtrodden at the prospect.

“Yes, please.”


	12. somewhere better

“Why don’t you just stop?” Komaran asked, out of the blue.

“Stop what?” Theus replied.

“Traveling.” Komaran repositioned herself on Theus’ back; he could feel her moving. “You told me yourself you don’t know where you want to go. Wouldn’t it be easier to just stop and settle down?”

“Here?” Theus asked, taking in the view of noxious ooze, dripping moss, and croaking frogs.

“Where else is there?”

Theus started to say “I don’t know,” then stopped himself. “There has to be somewhere better than here. I’ll stop when I get there.”

“Like where?” Komaran said skeptically. “How will you know when you’re there?”

Theus’ feet squelched under him. “It won’t be so muddy.”

Komaran made a half-amused, half-wistful noise, so Theus went on: “There’ll always be enough to eat, without having to scrounge for it, and animals won’t attack us, ever. And there’ll be older dragons who will tell us what to do when we’re lost, and take care of us when we’re sick or lonely. There’ll be someplace warm to sleep at night, and we’ll be able to sleep through the night, without getting scared or attacked. It’ll look and smell nice and you won’t sink in the bog if you go two steps off the path. It’ll feel like home.”

Komaran sighed. “I don’t think a place like that really exists.”

“It does, and we’re going to find it.”


	13. parents

One night they actually managed to get a fire going and sat around it, Theus and Komaran and the mith that still followed Theus – Theus making a barrier of his tail so that the mith wouldn’t wander into the flames, which entranced it. For all that the mith had never done anything for him, and that Komaran actively disliked it, Theus did not want to see it go up in flames, especially during such a peaceful night.

Komaran said, “You’re not _that_  much older than me. What happened to your parents?”

Theus almost flinched. The question had come out of nowhere, out of complete silence. He started to answer, to tell him that his parents had sent him out of their lair early because they simply had too many mouths to feed, and then he changed his mind. “They died.”

It was almost true: he could argue that the dragons who had raised him and not those who had laid his egg should count as his parents. And that meant it was Dusk and Zyere and Karno and Gwaihir, and they _had_ died. Quite recently. Shade, for all he knew his birth parents might be dead by now too. He had no way of contacting them.

“Oh. Sorry.” Komaran stared into the flames for a moment, apparently introspective. Then she added, “Mine abandoned me.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Theus said.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have expected anything else.” Komaran rolled over, putting her back to Theus. “You’ll leave too, eventually.”

Theus frowned at her back but couldn’t find the heart to tell her she was wrong.


	14. old enough to fight

“Soon you’ll be old enough to fight,” Theus said, with approval. They’d been lucky not to encounter many fearsome beasts recently – none they couldn’t hide or run from, anyway. But he doubted their luck would last. And when it did run out, he didn’t want to face the music alone.

“I don’t want to,” Komaran said, almost whining. She lay sprawled across Theus’ back again, catching a ride as he walked – and carried their few supplies.

“You don’t want to do anything,” Theus half-chided. He’d noticed a disturbing tendency towards laziness in his companion. Certainly she preferred riding on Theus to walking; she also often made herself conspicuously absent when it was time to set up or pick up camp. Not exactly the ideal trait, under the circumstances.

“Fighting just gets dragons killed,” Komaran said.

For a long moment Theus didn’t reply, remembering Dusk and Zyere, and the others. Fighting _had_  gotten them killed. Beasts had struck them down as they sought to make their way. And they had had a destination in mind. Couldn’t Theus and Komaran just travel aimlessly, turning back if they came across trouble rather than trying to push through it?

No. Trouble would find them.

“Not fighting gets dragons killed, too,” Theus replied. “I’ll show you some moves tomorrow.”


	15. stories

“Will you tell me a story?” Komaran asked, unexpectedly, as they bedded down for the night.

Theus looked at her. “Aren’t you getting a little old for bedtime stories?”

“No one is ever too old for a good story.”

Well, he couldn’t argue with that. But Theus didn’t intend to comply: “I don’t know any.”

Komaran frowned at him, brow twisting. “You have to know _some_  stories. They don’t have to be made up, you know. Like, you never told me exactly how you came to be here.”

Theus thought of Gwaihir, and Karno, and Zyere and Dusk. “It’s not a fun story.”

Komaran shrugged. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t tell it.”

For a moment, Theus considered this. He ought to tell _someone_ about those who had died, so that if he met the same fate, their memory would not end with him. Somewhere he’d heard that a dragon’s spirit died when no one remembered them anymore. While he wasn’t sure if he believed that, he did believe that Gwaihir and Karno and the others didn’t deserve to be forgotten here in the heart of this swamp.

“All right,” Theus said. “This is the story of how I got here, and if I die, you can tell it to whoever you meet next as the story of how _you_  got here. It started with this bogsneak named Zyere …”


	16. traveling companions

“Is this a clan?” Komaran said quietly, around the campfire.

“Is what a clan?” Theus replied.

“This. Us. Whatever this is.” Komaran looked at Theus almost beseechingly. “Are we a family?”

Theus hesitated. He hated to let her down, but … “I don’t know. I don’t think so. Aren’t we just … traveling companions?”

“Traveling where?” Komaran shifted uneasily. “I mean, when you’re traveling companions, don’t you generally have a destination? You reach that destination, and then you’re not traveling companions anymore. And we don’t have a destination, so … when do we cease to be ‘traveling companions’?”

 _When one of us dies_. Theus forced himself not to say that. Instead, he said, “I think you need more than two dragons to form a clan.”

Komaran shook her head. “That’s how they start, isn’t it? Just two dragons. And then they find a third, and a fourth, or they have … _eggs.”_

There was something odd in her voice on “eggs.” Theus didn’t even want to ask why.

“I guess we could be a clan,” he said, uncertainly. “If we found a third.”

“Or had eggs,” Komaran mused.

“Do you want to have eggs?” The idea had honestly never occurred to Theus before. They weren’t yet old enough, but when they were – if one of them hadn’t died by then …

“I don’t know.” Komaran sighed and threw a forelimb over her eyes. “Ask me again when I’m older. For now, I want sleep.”


	17. Callery's arrival

“You kids haven’t seen a big ol’ bumble around here, have you?”

Theus jumped: he hadn’t even noticed the nocturne’s arrival until she spoke. That was bad – if she’d been a beast, or even a hostile dragon, he would have had no chance to defend himself.

“A bumble?” Komaran replied, raising her head from where she lazed on Theus’ back. “I don’t think so … but I was dozing. Theus?”

“I don’t believe I’ve seen one,” Theus replied. “This is not exactly the sort of environment bumbles prefer, is it?”

“No, which is why I’m so worried.” The nocturne sighed, folding her wings. “Brought mine out here on a trip with me and now I can’t find the darn thing. Must’ve run off while I was sleeping.”

“Are you traveling alone?” Komaran asked. “You don’t have anyone to watch your familiar while you sleep?”

“That’s what the familiar was s’posed to do, keep watch.” The nocturne kicked at a tuft of grass, then looked up at Theus. For all her apparent worry, she didn’t seem in any hurry to resume her search, Theus thought uncharitably. “You kids out here alone too?”

“We’re not kids,” Theus said: he and Komaran were both full-grown now, even if they weren’t old enough to think about eggs.

“Sorry, sorry.” The nocturne grimaced. “Puttin’ my foot in my mouth again, like always. The name’s Callery. How about you folks?”

“I’m Komaran, and he’s Theus.” Komaran eyed Theus with a certain look, but he couldn’t figure out why. “Where are you headed, Callery?”

Callery shrugged. “Oh, just all ‘round. Looking for a good place to settle down, maybe raise some trunkers, but obviously this ain’t gonna work.”

She gestured at the swamp around them. No need to elaborate: Theus was quite familiar with the swamp’s unsuitability as a home.

“We’re not sure where we’re going either,” Komaran said, glancing at Theus again. “Just sort of wherever the wind takes us.”

At that moment, a loud buzzing came from behind Theus. He turned quickly, trying to make sure that _this_  time he was ready to defend himself; the abrupt motion dumped Komaran off his back. And the threat he’d tried to face turned out to be only a big, fat, harmless bumble.

“Bummer!” Callery cried, seeing the creature. “There y’are. Get over here, you fat old thing!”

The bumble bobbed unsteadily through the air towards Callery. Its movements were so haphazard that it was impossible to tell whether it actually wanted to go to the nocturne or just happened to float that way.

“Y’all must be good luck, for Bummer to turn up like this,” Callery said, beaming at Theus and Komaran. “I don’t suppose …”

“Maybe you do,” Komaran said, smiling. “What is it?”

“Well, y’all want some company on the road? I’ll admit that having someone to watch my back sounds like a mighty fine idea – and I’d be glad to watch yours in return.”

“We’d love to have you,” Komaran said, before Theus could reply, and of course Theus was too polite to contradict her.


	18. navigation

“You think we’ll ever get out of this swamp?” Komaran said.

“It has to end eventually,” Theus replied.

“Unless we’re walking in circles,” Komaran retorted. She pointed at a dead tree. “I could have sworn I’d seen that tree before.”

Theus struggled to hide his annoyance at the suggestion. Since he led the party, he couldn’t help but feel that Komaran was blaming him for their lack of progress. Not to mention:  _Maybe if you got off my back and shifted your own hide, you could steer us in the right direction._ Someone who could not be bothered to walk for herself could hardly complain about the way those who _did_  walk chose to do so.

Callery spoke up from behind Theus. “What’s your compass say?”

Komaran and Theus were both quiet for a moment before Komaran answered: “What’s a compass?”

“Y’all don’t – ” Callery stopped herself. “Y’all’ve just been wandering around with no idea where you’re goin’?”

“Well, when you put it like that …” Theus said.

“Seriously, what’s a compass?” Komaran sat up on Theus’ back and craned her neck towards Callery. By now Theus had turned to look back at Callery, so he could see her take something from her bag, a small disc.

“A compass tells you which way’s north,” Callery said. Theus thought she spoke more slowly, but not _quite_  slowly enough for him to accuse her of thinking them idiots. “That way you can set a direction and stick to it. You check the compass to make sure you’re not goin’ in circles.”

“Why don’t you take the lead,” Theus said, his tone making it very clear that this was not a question.

Callery shrugged. “OK. Which way y’all want to go?”


	19. settling

“So, wherever we end up,” Callery said, “what are you gonna do when we get there?”

Theus and Komaran exchanged glances. Komaran actually walked for herself today, for once. While he remained too polite to say anything, she had noticed Theus’ increasingly exasperated glances and sighs and decided not to further try his patience.

“What are you going to do?” Komaran asked, trying to deflect the question.

“I told you, I’m gonna build up a herd o’ trunkers.” Callery turned around, walking backwards so that she could address Theus and Komaran directly. “But what about y’all? Or are you just gonna … keep walkin’?”

“No,” Theus said immediately. “One of these days I’m going to stop traveling. When we get out of this swamp.”

Komaran felt less sure of her answer. Would she like to settle down? She’d never known anything settled, not since her parents had left. So she had no idea whether she’d like it. If Theus and Callery wanted to settle down, though … Maybe she should give it a try. She didn’t want to lose her friends. But something inside her said that she was sure to lose them at some point, anyway, so why base decisions on that tenuous attachment?

Maybe they wouldn’t even want her in their settled life, anyway.


	20. abandoned

“So, what about your family?” Komaran asked Callery, while Theus slept. The poor imperial had to a right to be exhausted: he’d carried Komaran all day again. She really was starting to feel guilty about being such a burden on him … but not quite guilty enough, yet, to walk for herself _every_  day.

“What _about_ my family?” Callery replied.

“Theus’ parents died. Mine abandoned me.” Komaran looked keenly at Callery. She had what one might call a nose for misfortune, and she definitely wanted to hear of any tragedies in the nocturne’s past. “What happened to your family? Why are you out here on your own?”

Callery frowned. “Nothing ‘happened’ to my family. I grew up happy and eventually decided it was time to move out and move on. Leave the nest, find my own place, put down roots – all that. What d’you mean, your parents _abandoned_  you?”

Komaran winced. Callery had managed to turn her voyeuristic love of tragedy back on Komaran herself, and she didn’t appreciate that. “Oh, you know. They tossed me out into the wild and told me to fend for myself. Like you do.”

“Like _who_  does?” Callery’s wings spread a little. “Because _I_  certainly don’t. I wouldn’t treat a yapper that way, let alone a dragon.”

“I was just a hatchling,” Komaran said pitifully, realizing that she now had Callery hooked. “Lost, all alone, in the swamp …”

Callery looked appropriately appalled.


	21. I don't hate you

“So how long have you and Komaran been traveling together?” Callery asked, while Komaran was off fishing in a nearby pool.

“Since we were hatchlings,” Theus said. “I found her hiding in a bush when I was barely much older than she was.”

“Right, the no-parents thing.” Callery looked guilty. “Sorry if I shouldn’t’ve asked.”

“No, it’s all right.” Theus folded his forelimbs under him. “I don’t even remember my parents, so I don’t feel too attached to them. I … I think Komaran might have issues with hers, though.”

The truth was, Theus thought more about Karno and Gwaihir than he ever did about his biological parents. They were the ones who had made him feel safe and looked out for, in the brief time before they were gone. Zyere and Dusk had made decent substituted, but they just didn’t have the other two’s surety.

“You must be pretty close, then,” Callery said, referring to Theus and Komaran.

Theus frowned. Did Callery have a point with this? “I suppose.”

Callery sighed. “I like traveling with y’all, but I know you don’t like me. I’d like to thank you for letting me come along anyway.”

 _Where did you get the idea I didn’t like you?_  Theus didn’t bother asking, because he knew the answer: he had, on occasion, been cold and curt with Callery. It was perfectly reasonable of her to interpret this as dislike. The truth was, while Theus found her manner of speech irritating, he didn’t outright dislike Callery; he just didn’t care one way or the other about her.

“I don’t hate you,” Theus said aloud.

Callery gave him a crooked smile. “Not hating’s not _liking_. Oh, Komaran’s back!”


	22. stay

“Will you stay?” Komaran asked.

“Stay where?” Callery replied.

“With us. While we’re nesting.” Komaran shifted where she sat, looking across the campfire at Callery. Theus had gone to gather more wood. “I know you’re not like us – you’re traveling to actually get somewhere, not just wandering around. I understand if you don’t want to waste your time –”

Callery shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I couldn’t leave my friends behind like that.”

 _We’re friends._  Komaran’s heart leaped at the word.

“I’m not in such a hurry to get where I’m goin’ that I’d abandon you at such a vulnerable time,” Callery continued. “Besides, safety in numbers – if I leave y’all, I take a pretty good chance o’ _never_  gettin’ there. And I wanna meet the kids!”

 _Meet the kids._  Komaran found excitement fluttering in her stomach. They really were going to nest, and have a family, and then she’d never have to worry about being alone ever again.

“It is almost like we’re a proper clan,” she muttered, too low for Callery to hear.


	23. jinx

“Will you stay?” Komaran asked.

“Stay where?” Callery replied.

“With us. While we’re nesting.” Komaran shifted where she sat, looking across the campfire at Callery. Theus had gone to gather more wood. “I know you’re not like us – you’re traveling to actually get somewhere, not just wandering around. I understand if you don’t want to waste your time –”

Callery shook her head. “Don’t be silly. I couldn’t leave my friends behind like that.”

 _We’re friends._  Komaran’s heart leaped at the word.

“I’m not in such a hurry to get where I’m goin’ that I’d abandon you at such a vulnerable time,” Callery continued. “Besides, safety in numbers – if I leave y’all, I take a pretty good chance o’ _never_  gettin’ there. And I wanna meet the kids!”

 _Meet the kids._  Komaran found excitement fluttering in her stomach. They really were going to nest, and have a family, and then she’d never have to worry about being alone ever again.

“It is almost like we’re a proper clan,” she muttered, too low for Callery to hear.


	24. the end

Callery fell first, under the claws of one of those little cat things that Komaran thought were so cute. It didn’t seem as cute with the nocturne’s blood dripping from its fur. Komaran screamed as she fell, and then Theus leaped in to dispatch the augite protector, but it was too late. Callery’s hat lay in the dirt; so did the rest of her.

“No – no …” Komaran ran and picked up the hat. “No! Not Callery!”

“Not Callery?” Theus asked, his eyes narrowing, too emotional – though that emotion felt more like anger than anything else – to be polite. _Not Callery? Would she rather it had been me? Herself?_

“She had a plan!” Komaran cried. “She wanted to get out of here – she knew what she was going to do! Us, what do we need to survive for? We have nothing! No future! Callery was moving forward!”

Theus looked down, feeling cold. _We have nothing. We are nothing._  “We have our eggs, Komaran. Soon …”

Komaran clutched Callery’s hat to her chest as she stared up at Theus. “Eggs … do you really want to bring eggs into a world like this? Where anything can be ripped away whenever? We can’t …”

“We went over this,” Theus said, impatient. It wasn’t that he hadn’t liked Callery – or, at least, he hoped it wasn’t, because that seemed petty and cruel. But they were still in uncharted, dangerous territory; he needed Komaran to keep fighting, not collapse in her grief. “No eggs means being forgotten. And being forgotten …”

Komaran looked down at the hat. “No. We can’t let her, let the others be forgotten. You’re right. We need to keep going.”

But it was not to be. Only a couple skirmishes later Theus watched in horror, feeling time slow around him, as an owlcat landed a savage blow that drove the light from Komaran’s eyes all at once. He finished off the owlcat and its allies and went to her side, but it was too late.

 _Last one. I’m the last one again._  It felt ironic, considering that he’d been the eldest of the three of them. It also felt fated. He’d been the last one alive from Karno and Gwaihir’s group. Maybe he was cursed to outlive everyone he cared about.

He was almost relieved when – robbed of his allies, heavily outnumbered – he died himself.


End file.
